


Don't Forget To Breathe

by fourfreedoms



Category: Hockey RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming Out, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Partner with more experience, Rookie Year, Switching, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 13:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: “You need to stop going for the whole older sex bomb thing,” Jonny tells him at a bar in Montreal. “Try the girl next door.”Patrick takes a deep swig of his beer. “You make it sound like I’m going for cougars!”Jonny laughs. “I know you’re not. You had your little moment with Taylor Swift.”It's perfectly normal to be competitive with Jonny over their sex lives. Even if Jonny somehow always ends up winning.





	Don't Forget To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to cooliofoolioz, hatrickane, and sorrylatenew for audiencing and forever letting me bounce ideas off of them, even at the most inconvenient of times. 
> 
> Deep into procrastinating on everything important on my life, I was originally interested in trying to figure out a good way to write experience kink (which I love) in canon, given that, well, neither of them could possibly have made it to the NHL as virgins. And then this fic was born in chat with cooliofoolioz. It draws on some of the elements of the little ficlet "You Must Be This Tall to Ride This Ride" that I wrote back in 2014. You'll probably recognize them. 
> 
> I basically HAD to finish this in order to focus on other aspects of my life (hello OCD person, thy name is Lauren) so it's unbeta'd, so I apologize if you spot mistakes.

There are some guys who’d try to hide it maybe, or would at least keep real quiet about it, but he’s known Jonathan Toews a long time, been running into him at tournaments and championship games since middle school. And while they’re not best buddies, he’s got Jonny on instant messenger and on his phone and he posts on his facebook wall from time to time. They’re close enough that Patrick doesn’t feel weird blowing his phone up when he goes third in the draft. Enough that it really fucking hurts to lose to him at worlds, but also he can’t help but feel awe for the guy too. Enough that he’s glad when he ends up on the same team with a roster full of old guys that it’ll be the two of them at least. He doesn’t know how Jonny is with his other buddies, but Jonny doesn’t hide it from him at least—that he’s gay. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” Patrick asks, at the end of camp, when they already know they’ve cracked this roster. Jonny sits in the bed next to him, braced up against the pillows, flipping through channels on the tv screen, while Patriick lies underneath the covers, tossing a tennis ball up and down, catch and release, the apex of the throw always to the same height, practicing his reflexes and muscle control until he no longer has to look up to see it. 

“About what?” Jonny asks, looking over at him, brow lifted. 

Patrick snorts, letting the ball fall into his palm and then dropping it to the mattress. “That you prefer snake instead of grass?” 

Jonny snorts with laughter. “Yeah, it’ll—it’ll probably come up. You know in college they call it the sophomore surprise?” 

Patrick rolls to his side. “You told them?”

Jonny sighs. “Why do you think the first half of the year sucked so bad?” 

Patrick winces, remembering the articles wondering if the ‘Hawks had drafted poorly because Toews was not delivering for the Fighting Sioux, but then he’d shown up good at Worlds, made them all eat their words.

“What changed the second half?” 

“They remembered who the fuck I was,” Jonny says, and then he laughs, “and they decided they wanted to win shit again.” 

Patrick smiles with him, but inside, he feels the injustice of that, the team getting over his sexuality because he was just a cog in the machine to them. “What do you think is gonna be different about this place, exactly?”

“You know, they say that 1 and 10 guys is gay? So there’s like roughly 700 dudes in the league, right? That means 70 gay guys—that’s more than two per team. So I can’t be the only one.” 

Patrick chuckles. “Who do you think the other guy is?”

Jonny shrugs and smirks. “Maybe it’s you!” 

Patrick hurls his pillow at him. “Fuck off!” 

Jonny obviously knows that’s not true. He knows all the details of Patrick losing his virginity (a full year later than Jonny did—which still stupidly irks him), the first time he got a suckjob (yes, also after Jonny), his first threesome (bam, beat Jonny here, suckas)—pretty much his entire sexual history laid bare. 

Jonny laughs uproariously. “It’s a stat, Kaner, not a mandate. Could mean that in this instance all the guys in the NHL who like dick are randomly clustered in one place.” 

“Unfortunate for you that you didn’t end up in a place like that,” Patrick says, since he’s clearly thought about it. 

“Eh, not gonna mess around with my teammates,” Jonny tells him, staring up at his ceiling. 

“Mmm,” Patrick replies, going back to his ball. “But you’re gonna tell ‘em.” 

“Yeah,” Jonny nods, “Like I don’t need to be made some gay poster child, but I can’t—I don’t think I can really hide it in the locker room—” 

“Hard not to perv on Sharp, you mean?” 

Jonny looks over at him, brows raised. “That was all you, man. You sure the other guy isn’t you?” 

“Get real, I got sisters, I got eyes, and I’m secure in my masculinity, so take that.” 

Jonny looks like he wants to say something else about it, but he lets it go. “Assuming they don’t send us down after ten games, we’re going to be around them a lot. It’s hard, Kaner, hiding what you are.” 

Patrick lets his ball drop back into his hand again. “They’re not gonna send us home after ten games,” he says fiercely. 

Jonny rolls onto his side, his head pillowed onto his arm. “Pretty sure there, short stuff.” 

“Truth be told, they kinda need us,” Patrick replies. “Probably the best situation that you could ever say, ‘by the way I’m gay.’”

Jonny holds his gaze. “I hope you’re right.” 

“I am.” 

*

It does go okay. It helps that Jonny scored his first goal on his first shot on his first ever NHL shift, but it doesn’t hurt that after a moment of deafening silence in the locker room, people frozen in the middle of taking off pads and unwinding tape, Duncs, of all people, leans back against his stall and says, “That’s fine, Tazer, nobody’s going to give you shit for it.” His strange light blue eyes scanning across the room, “Right?” 

Patrick coughs and is just opening his mouth to agree when Sharpy interrupts with, “Just hands off the goods, this here is all for Abby,” as he gestures down his body. 

Jonny briefly shares a look with Patrick, who shrugs back, because, look, everybody including Sharpy knows he’s the best looking thing in that room. Jonny looks back at Sharpy, squinting at him. “Aren’t you a little old for me?” 

The entire locker room cracks up and Burish tosses a ball of tape at him. “He’s got jokes.” 

And that’s it. Patrick doesn’t pretend to know what’s going on behind every guys eyes, but most of the guys who matter in the room have said the right thing, and Havlat and Lang seemed pretty above it all. Even if Jonny probably didn’t mean that crack as a joke. 

Sharp and Bur _do_ ask Patrick over lunch if he’s still comfortable rooming with Jonny, which is a dick move if you ask him, and he says as much. 

“I’ve known for a while now, and no it doesn’t bother me. What the fuck, guys?” 

Bur replies, “Look, I don’t care what Tazer does or who he does it with. Duncs’ has a gay cousin, and I’ve hung with the guy and he’s cool as shit. But being road roommates with him would be asking a lot, you know?” 

Patrick refuses to entertain this any longer. “Bur, he’s my friend, I’ve known him a long time. He’s like my brother, don’t be a shithead.” He takes one last sip from his drink, gets up from the table, and hurls it in the trash. End of conversation. 

*

The guys on the team get used to it, because Jonny scores goals, Jonny hauls ass back to the net to help out his defensemen, and Jonny’s strictly eyes off in the dressing room. When they have some bullshit to say about it, he’s always got a deadpan chirp back for them that has everybody laughing uproariously. He can be awkward as hell, but his comebacks are legendary. Patrick’s come to realize that Jonny was prepared for this. Just like battle drills or extra time in the weight room, he figured out his play, because he’s smart like that. 

After a while the guys on the team even find it hilarious how much of a manwhore he is. Patrick on the other hand does not. It seems like every single time he turns around, Jonny’s going home with someone, while Patrick strikes out. They’ve got their points race on, and now this unofficial competition too. It’s not that girls aren’t into Patrick, which Jonny points out. It’s just that the girls who dig him are often not the ones he wants to get down with. 

“You need to stop going for the whole older sex bomb thing,” Jonny tells him at a bar in Montreal. “Try the girl next door.” 

Patrick takes a deep swig of his beer. “You make it sound like I’m going for cougars!”

Jonny laughs. “I know you’re not. You had your little moment with Taylor Swift.” 

Patrick knocks him in the side with his elbow, because how many guys can say Taylor Swift gave them her number? “It’s just the girls who are slightly older are just a little less—” he breaks off and waves a hand. 

“I have no idea what this means,” Jonny says copying the gesture. 

Patrick rolls his eyes and starts peeling the label off his beer bottle. “I guess a little less ‘lie back and think of England.’ Always makes me think they’re just banging me for the jersey, you know? Like they want to be close and they’ll do whatever it takes. Creeps me the fuck out.” 

Jonny’s eyes soften. “I get that.” 

Patrick clears his throat. Jonny’s sympathy embarrasses him. “Whatever. Anyone catch your eye tonight?” 

Jonny groans. “I got this call this morning from a guy I hooked up with that he’s got mono, so I have to wait and get tested when we get back home before anything else can happen.” 

At first Patrick laughs at him, because well, that much hooking up was probably bound to come up in something like this _sometime_. Patrick had made a point of making fun of Jonny for his likelihood of getting STDs and Jonny had heatedly replied that he was probably the most careful on the team, getting tested more often, always using protection, unlike Wiz, who, as he pointed out, was fucking this one crazy chick solely because she’d let him stick it in without a condom. But how do you ward off mono? There is no warding it off. There’s just decreasing your odds through avoiding making out and sharing drinks, and then it occurs to him: “Fuck, Jonny, if you have mono that could be so bad for the season—” 

“I know,” Jonny replies glumly. 

*

He doesn’t have mono. He gets the results when they’re on the road. Which of course calls for a “free and clear” celebration, apparently because his seven days of forced celibacy is just too damn much to be borne any longer. 

“Are you for real?” Patrick asks, on the walk over to the club. 

Jonny shrugs. “How long have you gone?” 

“Since I started having sex?” Patrick answers. “Uh, I guess the longest dry spell is probably a couple of months, but recently a couple of weeks. We’ve been pretty busy, sometimes I’m just too damn tired to even think about it.” 

Jonny stares at him like he’s crazy. “Guess that explains those long showers then.” 

Patrick gives him a dark look and flicks him off. He’s not ashamed of his association with his right hand. Jonny could probably use more of it for his own health and safety. When he says as much, Jonny just laughs and thumps him in the side. 

“But it was all a false-alarm, Kaner. I’m good to go.” 

Apparently, for Patrick, tonight is one of those nights that he just can’t summon up the energy. He had a pretty rough game, and even though he’s been chatting up a gorgeous slim-hipped brunette over by the balcony, his entire body aches on his right side from a rough hit, and he’s at the stage of drunk where he’s tired and headachey rather than happy and boisterous. It’s taking more and more effort to continue the conversation rather than just head back to the hotel. Eventually he calls it quits, taking her number and catching a cab back with Sharpy. 

“Did you see the guy Tazer disappeared with?” Sharpy asks. 

Patrick shakes his head. “Why? Is he gonna need a paper bag?” 

“No, I would just like it to be known that Mr. Serious has a type, which I do not fit, so he can fuck right off with that too old shit.”

“Aww, Sharpy, were your feelings hurt?” 

“Just sayin’, seems to have a hang up for blond jocks,” Sharpy laughs. “I wonder if he had some weird experience with one of the Staal brothers growing up, wholesome sod farming family that they are.” 

Patrick laughs. “Man, don’t even go there. Images I do not need.” 

*

He’s on total autopilot when he gets back to the room. When he swipes his key card, all he thinks about is having to piss. The shower’s running, so Jonny must be back from his hook up. It never even enters his mind to announce himself. He’s been walking in on Jonny all season when he has to use the restroom while Jonny’s still in there, taking forever with all his routines. And Jonny started it first anyway, complaining that Patrick’s showers were “too long” and “too frequent” and obviously hasn’t let it go since. 

Well the merits of announcing his presence has entered his mind in a big way now, standing frozen at the entrance to the bathroom awkwardly with his belt half undone, staring at Jonny in the shower, naked, practically fucking some guy’s face, while water cascades down around them. 

Patrick scrambles out of the bathroom and then the room for good measure, heading straight to Seabs and Duncs next door to use their bathroom. 

“Uh oh. What happened?” Seabs asks, sitting on the hotel desk chair, when Patrick makes his way out of the bathroom after doing his business. 

“Has Jonny sexiled you before?” Patrick asks, grumpily, sitting at the foot of Duncs’ bed. 

Seabs lets out a huff. “I don’t think he’s brought anybody back to my place. Not extending you the same courtesy, huh?” 

Patrick groans. “Apparently not.” 

Duncs looks up from his book, eyebrows drawn. It’s hard to tell with Duncs, who never really looks too excited about anything, but right now he looks kinda pissed. “Would you be flipping out if you walked in on him with a chick? Because I gotta tell ya, that’s life on the road sometimes.” 

“What?” Patrick stares at him. “I don’t care that he’s in there with a guy. I just want to go to bed, and he’s fucking around in there because he can’t go without for longer than seven days.” 

Duncs rolls his eyes. “Sure you aren’t jealous because you can’t close when he can?” 

Patrick flips him off. That is 100% not what is going on. Okay, it is a little bit what is going on. But, he coulda gone home with that chick tonight if he wanted to, he just hadn’t wanted to. It’s more than that though. It’s not just about notches in the bed post. Competitive nature  
aside, Patrick doesn’t need to sleep with _that many_ people. It’s that, holy shit, Patrick saw what Jonny was doing in that shower, how that guy was digging his hands into his buttocks and slurping at his cock, just taking it and moaning the whole while. Shocking and dismaying, yes, but also totally freakin’ unfair. If Patrick so much as suggested face fucking to somebody he’d be laughed to the curb. He gives a dejected sigh.

The quiet ding of a text coming in interrupts his train of thought, and he pulls it out and looks it over. 

“It’s Jonny,” he says. “Apparently it’s safe to go back.” 

Duncs grunts and goes back to his book, effectively dismissing him and Seabs spreads his hands wide. “I gotta say, either he took care of business really quick, or he got rid of that guy because of you, so don’t be a total bitch, Kaner.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he accepts the clap on the back Seabs gives him as he’s leaving with good grace. 

Jonny’s sitting on the bed, cross-legged, in sweatpants, playing around on his laptop when Patrick walks in. He laughs when he sees Patrick’s lemon-faced expression. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Bur said you went home with that girl, so I thought I had the room to myself.”

Oho. So that’s how it is. “That motherfucker.” 

Jonny closes his laptop. “What?” 

“He set me up!” Patrick tells him. “I didn’t go home with her at all. I was just by the balcony.” 

Jonny raises his brows. “You didn’t uh, hear the shower running?”

“I had to piss, sue me.”

Jonny concedes the point with a nod, he knows the rules of their shared bathroom, as in—there are none. “I probably shouldn’t have trusted anything out of his mouth.” 

“Accurate,” Patrick replies and starts getting ready for bed. 

When he’s brushed his teeth and the lights are off so that he doesn’t have to look Jonny in the face, he clears his throat and speaks up, hoping Jonny hasn’t already fallen asleep, “Can I ask you a question?” 

Jonny turns over under the covers, answering sleepily, “Shoot.” 

“How do you—how do you get them to do it?” Patrick fumbles over the words. 

“Do what?” Jonny says carefully. 

“Y’know, get them to suck you like that—I’ve never seen that—I mean not that I’ve watched any of my buddies before—”

“Kaner,” Jonny interrupts with a laugh, “I didn’t _get_ him to do it. He wanted to.” 

Patrick huffs out a sigh. “People don’t want to do that with me.” 

“It’s just different for gay guys, like I can walk up to a guy I know is gay and say let’s fuck right now, 100% seriously, and they probably won’t be offended. They’ll probably say yeah, meet you by the door.” Jonny says, “You can’t do that with girls unless you’re like George Clooney or Leonardo DiCaprio or something, and probably half the time, not even then.” 

Patrick makes a disgusted noise. 

“But,” Jonny says, talking over him, “you’ll get there, like girls can be into all sorts of kinky shit, c’mon, you just have to find the right one.” 

“So much work,” Patrick groans. 

Jonny tosses something at him, and says fondly, “When have you ever wanted stuff to be easy?” 

It takes him a while to realize what it is: his practice tennis ball. 

*

Patrick starts hooking up with a girl regularly in early December. They’re not exclusive, or at least they haven’t discussed it, but he likes her, and the sex is good and she seems to be up to try things, but the hard line is apparently anal. Patrick doesn’t _need_ to do anal, but like most red blooded males he wants to at least _try_ it. 

When he says as much to Jonny as they’re gearing up for practice, Jonny pops his gum, smirks, and says, “Understood.”

Patrick wants to dump his Gatorade on him. Yes, yes, Jonny gets lots of ass. Everybody knows. Jonny world traveler that he is, has had sex with girls (‘just to make sure, you know’) and with guys, and thus has managed to double-down on Patrick yet again. Not that Patrick wants to fuck a guy, just, he’d like to have something over on Jonny, just _one thing_ that he’d been able to do that Jonny hadn’t, aside from the damn threesome which Jonny said he wasn’t interested in anyway. Patrick’s not into bondage and crazy roleplaying or sex in public, so his options for pulling ahead are kinda limited these days. He sits back and sighs. “What’s it like?” 

Jonny doesn’t stop lacing his skates as he replies casually, “Getting or giving?” 

Patrick splutters in shock. “Giving! Giving! Obviously!” He checks all around the room, suddenly paranoid the other guys are listening in, just waiting for prime chirping material. He breathes out in relief when it’s clear that everybody is too locked into their own shit to care about his and Jonny’s side conversation. He pitches his voice a little quieter, “You mean you uh...you take it?”

Jonny finally pauses, laces still wrapped around his fists. “Depends,” he says slowly. He clears his throat. “Anyway, it’s not that different from fucking a chick—more work, obviously, sometimes it’s easier to just get a handy and call it a night.” 

Patrick stares at him, he doesn’t believe that. A handy? Better than fucking? Patrick has never had a handjob in his entire life that came even close. 

Jonny smiles at him. “Not better, just more expedient.”

More expedient? What the fuck? Patrick knows his thoroughly unimpressed expression must be showing on his face. “What are you trying to do? Cycle them through the DMV faster, Tazer? What does that even mean?”

Jonny sighs like Patrick is a total idiot. “You’ve gotta lube ‘em up inside, and then work them open so they can take it, dumbass.” He knocks Patrick with his shoulder and a grin. “It’s not like whatever porn you’re watching.” 

Patrick doesn’t mean to picture it, it just comes up behind his eyes unbidden, Jonny on his knees behind some guy, fingerfucking him until they’re ready. He’d probably be like that guy in the shower, totally into it. He tries to shake it out of his head, but the image won’t go. 

“—and sometimes you both just want to get off _now_ you know, not in an hour or two. Hey, Kaner, are you listening?” 

“What?” Patrick asks, startled. “Oh, sorry, I was just trying to figure out what Bur’s doing over there.”

Luckily Bur actually is doing something strange, in that he’s rummaging around in Havlat’s unattended bag, clearly up to something. 

“Knock it off, Bur,” Jonny calls, and Bur pauses, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“What you gonna do about it, rookie?” Bur calls back, but when he pulls his hands out and goes back to his own stall, empty handed. 

Patrick and Jonny both know this means that Jonny’s going to take the prank intended for Havlat now, but that’s just how Jonny is. He’s gonna be Captain of this team before too long, everybody except Jonny seems to know it. 

He doesn’t think about it again—why would he? Jonny boning somebody else? No bueno. Only it pops into his head in the worst way when he’s tired at home, just planning to rub one out before going to sleep. Patrick takes his time choosing porn, always has. He never used the Brazzer’s account the Knights split, because watching ugly sweaty overweight guys bone chicks with massive fake tits and plastic heels had always grossed him out a little. He could find better stuff on the internet pretty regularly anyway. 

Tonight it’s a little harder to find something he’s really into. He’s clicked out of a dozen clips already, but nothing is doing it for him. He finally finds one with a chick who’s pretty hot, with the lighting good. She’s in heels, but they look like something a girl would wear to a party not in the back aisle of a fetish shop. The guy’s okay too, good body, face out of frame—Patrick can ignore him. He’s getting pretty into it, watching the girl get flipped around on her belly as the guy taps his cock against her asshole. He has to push a few times before he can pop it in, which makes Patrick think about what Jonny said about getting someone ready for it. The girl tilts her ass up and the guy finally slides in and then starts railing her—not fast, but smooth and hard, abs tightening and releasing. She seems into it, making all the right noises and leaning back into it. Yeah, fuck, good stuff, Patrick thinks. But then the guy runs a hand down her back, and leans down so he can start finger-fucking her pussy at the same time, and Patrick is so startled he yelps, letting go of his cock. 

The guy looks so much like Jonny, or what Jonny might look like just with spiky hair and earrings and a bad neck tattoo. And Patrick can’t help it—it had already been uncomfortably in his head when he thought about that guy trying to put his cock in at 2 minutes and 45 seconds. His brain cycles right through what it would be like if it actually were Jonny—Jonny and a guy, that is. Jonny with _Patrick_ , his back arching sleekly, groaning. Ah, jesus, no. 

He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes, like he might be able to scrub the image out, but it won’t go. The girl moans loudly, catching his attention. The Jonny lookalike sits back on his heels and tugs her into his lap reverse cowgirl style. When the angle of the camera changes Patrick can that see he doesn’t really look like Jonny from the front, but it doesn’t matter. It’s stuck in Patrick’s head like a bad song. He shuts the laptop and shoves it aside, chest tight. That was so wrong, he’s irritated at himself for even going there. 

He tries to just roll over and go to sleep, but his hardon won’t go away and he just can’t seem to let it go. Sighing in disgust, Patrick rolls back over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. His hand drops like it has a mind of its own to the waistband of his boxers. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and blows out a breath. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He might as well give in to it, just get it over with. 

He hesitates only a moment longer, before tucking his hand inside and giving himself a firm stroke, biting at his lip. He has no context for what it would feel like, to get fucked and he doesn’t really want to—but Jonny behind him, hauling his hips up and spreading his cheeks wider, the thought makes his cock jerk. Patrick comes hard not a minute a later, and then lies there, blinking guiltily. That was so not supposed to happen. 

Goddamn Jonny. Sometimes the weirdest shit gets you off and that’s all this is. He wipes his hand off with a tissue, determined to put it out of his mind, and notices his phone screen lighting up. 

When he angles it toward him, he sees Jonny’s name along with a little message bubble suggestively declaring “you wanna come?” Patrick nearly falls out of bed. 

What? What the fuck. Did he—did Patrick somehow dial him? He frantically scrolls up, wondering what the hell Jonny could possibly mean, and comes across a long series of messages inviting him to this concert for some Canadian band Patrick doesn’t know. Totally kosher. Patrick drops his phone with a groan. Yeah cool, so he’s just losing his mind then. Great. 

He tries not to dwell on it. He’s known Jonny for so long and it was just some stupid stray thought. The day afterwards he’s a little awkward and off-kilter around Jonny, but then he has an absolutely terrible game that has the press talking about Patrick hitting the rookie wall, and that pisses Patrick off so bad he doesn’t have much room for anything else. Certainly not worrying about the one time he jerked off to some stupid porno. 

He doesn’t even notice that one week goes by, and then two, and then three all without hooking up at all. By the time he does notice it’s been well over a month since he got any, almost two in fact, and it’s only because the guys are talking shit in the locker room and Bur’s calling him a little boy who can’t manage the pressure of the NHL and hooking up with girls at the same time. 

“Why are you so interested in my sex life?” Patrick says, managing a fairly genial tone for how much he wants to jack Bur in the face. “Well?” he says with a little more force than he means when Bur doesn’t answer. 

Bur just laughs at him, calls him a monk, but Jonny’s head pops up from where he’s pulling on his shin pads, like he knows something is not quite right with Patrick. Patrick raises his brows at him and Jonny’s eyes narrow, analyzing him, but then Savvy walks in to yell at them for how their last game went, and Patrick’s saved from the Jonathan Toews inquisition that surely would’ve resulted. 

*

Jonny’s one of those rare dudes who doesn’t have trouble talking about his feelings or communicating about that shit. It’s not like he’s all girly, but he does, er, express himself. Which means he has no problem asking Patrick what’s up with him when they’re getting lunch rather than dancing around it with platitudes. 

“Hey, did something happen? You got a little heated when Bur was having a go at you.” 

Jonny grumpily snaps at Bur and Sharpy all the time, so he’s not sure why Jonny’s bothering him about this at all. When he says as much, Jonny shrugs. 

“So there’s nothing more to your dry spell?” he pushes. 

Patrick takes a long swallow from his water glass, glaring at Jonny the whole time. “I just haven’t been thinking about it, okay?”

Jonny snorts. “Bullshit, you think about fucking all the time, I _know_ you, remember?” 

The way he says it, the emphasis he puts on it is so oddly intimate given everything that’s been swirling around in his head, unwanted or not, that Patrick can’t help flaring up with a blush. 

“Don’t tell me you met somebody and haven’t told me about it?” he prods. 

Patrick could take the excuse, write it off as just that so that Jonny will leave him alone. It’s not even that implausible. He’s certainly more prone to monogamy than Jonny, but Patrick doesn’t know how to lie to him. If he could, he would’ve told Jonny a thousand bullshit exploits long before this. “No, jeez leave it.” 

“You know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me, right?” 

Patrick groans. “C’mon, _mom_ , let it go.” 

Jonny raises his palms, but his expression says ‘not. a. chance.’ And Patrick can’t go down this road, he’ll start thinking about it again. It’ll get stuck in his head. So he throws his balled up paper napkin at him. It sails across the table and bounces off Jonny’s forehead, straight into his own glass of water. 

“Dude!” Jonny says, indignant. Ahah, and there’s the grumpy look so often aimed at Sharpy and Bur. 

*

As far as defences go, throwing a wadded up napkin at Jonny probably isn’t going to get him very far. He knows this, which is why he can only blame himself for not being prepared when Jonny starts quizzing him about it again when the team goes out. It was just such an awesome blowout win, their first one really, and Patrick had opened up the scoring. Jonny, he would add, did not get a single point. He had good reason to be preoccupied. 

He points this out, laughing, and Jonny raises a brow at him, a speculative look on his face. Uh oh. 

“You just totally blew that chick off and she was a total smokeshow,” Jonny points out, referring to a college co-ed who’d been practically throwing herself at Patrick. Jonny shakes his head, face scrunching up like he’s confused—yeah he’s probably a little drunk himself. Patrick takes in the way his cheeks are flushed, and the way he’s turned his baseball cap backwards at some point during the night. He looks loose and relaxed for all that he’s hounding Patrick. And and and fuck! Patrick’s gonna think about that porno again. Jonny laughs, totally misinterpreting his expression. “You still wanna tell me nothing’s up?” 

Patrick wants to throw up his hands. “Nothing is up!” 

Jonny ignores his protestations altogether. “Hmm. You haven’t contracted the herp have you? Like after all that making fun of me for getting a disease?” Jonny presses. 

“What? No! I do not have herpes, jesus.” Patrick looks around to see if anybody heard that. The last thing he wants is for it to spread around the team, pun most assuredly not intended. Sopes was mercilessly mocked for two weeks for getting the clap from some chick he went home with in Vancouver. Thankfully there’s nobody anywhere near them, they’re talking to some girls by the bar with the music pounding out of the club speakers too loud to make listening in feasible. 

Jonny stares at him, conveying ‘well?’ as surely as if he had shouted it. Patrick stares back so hard that it makes Jonny fidget, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck exactly where the shitty neck tattoo was on that lookalike. And suddenly Patrick wants so desperately to touch him, the urge is jangling around in his head so loud and insistent he can’t think past it. He closes his eyes, trying to banish it. And it must concern Jonny, because he feels him step in close, body warm against Patrick’s like he’s going in for a hug. So close that when he opens his eyes, he really feels the height difference between them. This is crazy, he hadn’t—he doesn’t want—

“Jonny,” he says softly, helpless. 

“What?” Jonny asks, face so earnestly worried now that Patrick just can’t hide it anymore. 

“Fuck it,” he says, taking a long pull on his beer for courage. “I just can’t stop picturing what you said.” 

But Jonny stares at him blankly, “About that play you could’ve made on Norrena?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes and drops his voice low, “No about...about you working a guy open for your cock...” He clears his throat, knowing he must be red enough to power a traffic light. 

Jonny continues to stare at him, face impenetrable. 

Patrick’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, putting it out there. He knows Jonny doesn’t do teammates and Patrick doesn’t even know how to explain how he himself is feeling, but this blankness is bad, wrong even. Patrick wasn’t intending to make it awkward. If only Jonny had just left it all alone. 

Patrick heaves a heavy sigh. “Forget it, man. Forget I said anything.” 

He goes to push past him to go find Sharpy, but Jonny stops him with a hand on his arm. Patrick jolts to a stop, looking back at him in confusion. 

Nobody can see them crushed up in this bar, which means they can’t see the way Jonny’s eyes drop to his mouth, or how Jonny’s hand slides from his elbow to the inside of his arm, stroking down his wrist, making him shiver. 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Jonny asks softly. 

Patrick’s heart thumps hard in his chest. He swallows around his suddenly dry mouth. “Not something you lie about, Tazer.” 

Jonny looks simultaneously blown away, but intent. That hyper-focus that earned him his much-hated moniker Mr. Serious all directed at him at once. The nerve-endings throughout Patrick’s body feel like they’re buzzing on fear and Patrick feels stretched thin, waiting in taut anxiety for what Jonny’s going to say next. At least he knows Jonny’s not gonna freak out at him for having thoughts about a guy. Jonny’s lips shape slowly into a smile, like he’s suddenly learned all of Patrick’s secrets. 

“You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now,” he says, 

Patrick feels like he’s just spent two minutes in the box after a bad penalty, begging the heavens for a goal not to go in. He can’t believe it. He knows Jonny collects guys, so it probably isn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he’d be into it, but the relief that he’s not alone makes him giddy. He wonders if Jonny’s been thinking about it too, the two of them caught up in that moment, so inadvertently filthy it’s been driving Patrick around the bend. 

“We can’t go back to Stan’s,” Patrick finally says. He’s not gonna insult their hospitality by hooking up in their basement in the middle of the night, especially with Stan coming off his stem-cell transplant and two very curious little boys prone to sneaking into his room. 

Jonny stares at him with a new kind of wonder. “You wanna do this now? Tonight?”

Patrick lifts his chin and smirks, reaching for his usual swagger. “You seem down.” 

That provokes a laugh and a bashful head duck. “Yeah, alright, Seabs is crashing with his girlfriend tonight.” 

Jonny’s room at Seabs’ place is much less homey than Patrick’s room at the Bowman’s—unsurprisingly Seabs had not made the same effort that Suzanne and his mother had in making it a nice room for an older teenager to stay. Although Patrick thinks he cares about that stuff more than Jonny does. There’s a pile of books on Jonny’s desk and stuff is everywhere, including a plethora of water glasses scattered about across all the flat surfaces. It smells good, Patrick notices, like Jonny himself, fresh and clean and somehow woodsy. Even though the rest of the room looks like Jonny’s closet exploded, the bed is neatly made. Although he assumes that’s to do with Jonny’s “sleep hygiene,” as he calls it. He casts his eyes nervously over the comfy-looking flannel sheets, still uncertain if this is the right idea. 

“Sorry, I don’t usually bring people back here,” Jonny says with a laugh, kicking a hoodie aside. 

Patrick snorts. “I wasn’t under any illusions, bro. This is better than I thought given your attitude towards our room on the road.” 

Jonny smiles. “I don’t know why you get so heated, we’re only in there for less than 24 hours.” 

Patrick shrugs, unsure what to say or do now that they’re here; Jonny must sense it, because he’s in his space again, a hand tilting his chin up, which is odd in and of itself, but not so much that it’s disconcerting. Jonny’s always in his space already, on the road, on the bench, on the ice after they score. “Yo, hey, we don’t have to. I know this is a lot.” 

Patrick is acutely aware of the press of their bodies together, front to front, no gear in the way. He sucks his lower lip in mouth, blinking up at Jonny. 

Jonny makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, you’re beautiful,” he says it like it hurts him. 

It’s weird too, being called beautiful, a retort rising up in his throat, when Jonny kisses him, thumb stroking across his jaw. This Patrick can do, having spent many long hours doing nothing but kissing with the good catholic girls at home. They weren’t saving themselves for marriage or any nonsense like that, but they weren’t going to put out for a simple hook up. They wanted a boyfriend for that, and Patrick wasn’t interested. He had too big dreams to get side-tracked by a relationship. Most of his experience came from the girls in Ann Arbor and London, who were often a little bit older and didn’t worry about getting called sluts. 

He tugs Jonny in tighter and opens his mouth to him, letting their tongues flick together. Jonny kisses like a question and Patrick does his best to answer it, knocking Jonny’s hands off his jaw so that he can use his own to angle Jonny like he wants him. It occurs to Patrick as he’s tracing his tongue across Jonny’s lower lip that they click, just like they do on a line. It’s not like Jonny could know how to kiss him the way he likes, it’s that he seems made to kiss Patrick the way he likes. This terrifying and unexpected thought that makes Patrick’s pulse pound hard. 

He draws back like he’s winded, their foreheads pressed together like they’re both just taking it in. They stay that way for a while, just breathing. Patrick doesn’t understand what he’s feeling anymore—this maelstrom of overwhelming emotions that all seem to coalesce around the sharp bright thought that he needs to do it again. 

“You’re good at that,” Jonny says, voice rough.

Patrick just smiles and replies, “Yeah, baby,” and then leans back in, showing him with this lips and tongue just how good he is. 

They back up towards the bed, until Patrick trips over one of Jonny’s abandoned sneakers and takes them both down, toppling onto the mattress with Jonny on top. Patrick starts laughing before his brain has even fully processed what happened. 

“Sorry,” Jonny chuckles, sheepish, moving above him so that their bodies are better aligned. 

“This is why you need to tidy your room, asshole,” Patrick says, “Unless that was your big move, scattering your things everywhere so you can trip people into bed?”

“Hey,” Jonny protests, “I didn’t plan to be taking anybody home tonight.” 

And just like that the tension snaps back into place, making Patrick aware of the way he’s starting to stiffen up in his jeans, sandwiched against Jonny’s abs. 

“Yeah?” Jonny says, moving more deliberately against him, a sweet smile on his face that is almost hard to look at and yet Patrick can’t stop. Jonny pushes himself up onto his hands and moves his thigh, giving him one hard dirty press from the muscle that has Patrick gasping. 

Patrick pulls him down to kiss him again, nipping at his mouth and making Jonny chase his tongue with his own. Jonny keeps rocking against him, slow, deliberate, his own hardon dragging across Patrick’s hip. 

Patrick lets out a moan he never intended to make, pushing back against him with the same vigor, and Jonny starts to move a little faster. 

He whispers soft and sure against Patrick’s lips, “This is all we have to do if you want.” 

And Patrick feels it low in his belly and in his chest and painting over all his thought-processes, that he could come like this and it would feel good, but he can’t stop the insistent burning want, the one that’s been plaguing him for days, unacknowledged and unrealized. 

“No, I—” he stops himself to suck in a ragged breath, “I want to know.” 

Jonny traces a hand down his throat and shoulder, twisting slightly to look down over Patrick’s body as he keeps up the patterned grind of their hips. “Some guys don’t like it,” he warns. 

“You do,” Patrick breathes, nerves crackling with coalescing energy that says orgasm really isn’t that far away at all. 

“Mmm,” Jonny confirms, sounding so warm and confident and amused that it makes Patrick’s dick jerk in his pants. 

“I _need_ to know,” Patrick insists. 

Jonny rubs his nose against Patrick before reconnecting their mouths for a kiss gone slick and hot and consuming, before he pulls away again. “Okay,” he says, “Okay.” 

Patrick shucks out of his clothes while Jonny rummages for his stuff in his dresser. First the box of condoms lands on the bed, and then moments later a very full tube of lube. 

“Always prepared.” Jonny grins as he strips off his own shirt and jeans, the inches of Jonny’s body that Patrick already knows so well quickly revealed. 

“Shyeah,” Patrick replies dryly. “I know.” 

“C’mere,” Jonny says when he’s naked, knee-walking across the bed. He kisses Patrick again accompanied by the revelatory press of their naked skin. Sometimes Patrick feels awkward in this part, when he’s having sex with girls, all these vulnerable places coming into sudden immediate contact. It doesn’t feel as jarring this time, even as Jonny’s bare cock pokes at his thigh; he suspects that it has to do more with Jonny himself than anything else. 

Jonny says, “You say stop, at any time, and we stop, okay?” 

Patrick appreciates the gesture, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “I know, fool, I’m not gonna martyr myself if it sucks.” 

Jonny laughs. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll bitch very loudly if I do something you don’t like.” 

“Hell yes, I will,” he shoots back. “If I wanted a painful lay I’d go to Lapointe’s wife.” 

“God, she is fucking terrifying, isn’t she?” Jonny says. “I pity Lappy if he’s ever caught doing something he’s not supposed to.” 

Patrick means to reply, but Jonny pops the cap off the lube and then squeezes a generous amount out to coat his fingers. “This’ll feel a little weird at first,” he says, and then kisses Patrick, carefully pushing a finger in at the same time. 

It does feel a little weird, but as Jonny works his fingers in and out, he also nudges up behind Patrick’s balls with the knuckles of his other fingers. He keeps it up with enough pressure that Patrick’s brain is more caught up on that then on the finger Jonny’s speared him with. 

“Your prostate’s on the other side of this,” Jonny tells him as he strokes across his taint. “Yours is all full, reminds me of peachskin.” 

Patrick wants to formulate a response to that embarrassing observation but the glancing pressure snugged up all tight against him is robbing his words. He definitely feels the next finger, but Jonny spills out even more lube over his fingers, and the alien slick sensation has him squirming. The sloppy squelching noises make his cheeks heat. Jonny’s rotates his hand and scissors his fingers, and it doesn’t hurt beyond the strange sensation of intrusion; he is starting to wonder if this is it. If this is how Jonny’s cock feels inside, but bigger, he doesn’t get why people are so into this. It’s a little disappointing. 

“Are you sure you’re doing this right?” Patrick asks skeptically, because his innate desire to give Jonny shit hasn’t gone anywhere and the external stimulation is nice, but not enough to really get him someplace. 

Jonny snorts and angles his hand, stroking firmly across something inside that makes Patrick’s belly dip and his cock jump. “Holy—what?” 

“I _did_ say this was more work,” Jonny says as he curls his fingers from within and presses down against Patrick’s taint with his thumb at the same time. Patrick shudders at the jolt that goes through him and he reaches for Jonny without thinking, yanking him down for a kiss that’s so consuming he only makes the smallest noise of discomfort when Jonny screws in a third finger. 

Patrick starts clenching his thighs to keep himself from embarrassingly thrusting back into Jonny’s hand. 

“Fuck, Kaner, you’re so into it,” Jonny whispers. 

“Don’t fuckin’ mock me,” Patrick bites out as Jonny maddeningly brushes over the spot again. 

“I’m not, I’m not,” Jonny says urgently, and then he’s kissing Patrick again, messy and wet, and Patrick wants him inside _now_. He doesn’t even care if it hurts. He must manage to say that to Jonny between those kisses, because Jonny pulls away and sits back on his knees to put on the condom. Patrick can’t help but notice now that he’s looking closely at it that Jonny’s dick is not as big as his. 

“What?” Jonny asks when he notices Patrick smiling. 

“Just thinkin’ how you beat me in everything, got laid first, get people to do all this kinky shit, got the gold at worlds, but,” he says as Jonny rolls his eyes, “my cock is bigger.” 

Jonny stares at him, and Patrick taps his tongue to one of his incisors, still smiling, and then Jonny starts laughing. 

“I have never had a lay chirp my dick in bed before,” he says. 

“Get used to it, baby,” Patrick replies running his eyes over it again, the neat pubic hair, the straight length of his shaft. Jonny’s not small, nobody’s ever going to look at his dick and be disappointed, but he’s definitely not as long or as thick as Patrick. 

“I’m glad this brings you such joy,” Jonny tells him darkly as he finally gloves up and squirts lube up and down the condom. He taps Patrick’s knees apart and braces himself above him. “It’ll feel plenty big in a moment.” 

He’s not lying—he slides in smoothly, but Patrick’s body keeps clenching down, expecting _less_. He realizes then that the issue isn’t just size, but that his cock is so hard; there’s absolutely no give at all as Patrick’s body swallows him up, stretching to fit around him where previously there was nothing. 

Jonny’s patient and doesn’t move as Patrick breathes in deep breaths and fights to get used to it. One of his hands rubs over Patrick’s thigh in a soothing back and forth, and slowly, slowly, he relaxes. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks Jonny, who’s gone eerily silent. He’s been unable to meet Jonny’s eyes, but now he looks. 

“A night at the races,” Jonny replies with a sharp quirk of his lips. “How fuckin’ good you feel, obviously.” 

Patrick couldn’t tell you why that has his thighs spreading, seemingly letting Jonny in even deeper, but then they’re both moaning, and Jonny starts up that same rhythm from earlier when they were dry fucking. This is not what Patrick imagined at all, lying on his back like this, thighs knocking against Jonny’s hips until he lifts them to wrap around Jonny’s hips. Jonny’s dick is lighting him up inside, every stroke sliding unerringly across that place. It dials him right back into the fevered space they were in before; he is painfully aware how long he’s been on edge, his dick rigid and insistent between his thighs, brushing against Jonny’s belly in a way that’s not enough, not enough at all. 

“Jonny, Jonny, how do I come?” Patrick finds himself asking, because it’s there, it’s there, and each thrust feels so good, but it’s not enough. 

Jonny shudders against him like the words cost him. He kisses up Patrick’s throat before he lifts himself partially off Patrick, leaning back so that he’s halfway to kneeling now. He can’t get in as deep, but his dick punches in short precise stabs and he has space to wrap his hand around Patrick’s cock, jerking him off. Patrick has the abstract thought as his own back comes up off the bed in a high arch that Jonny’s turned fucking into some kind of athletic art. 

“Oh god,” he moans, because it’s almost too much, all this sensation, in his ass and in his cock, and yet, all he wants is more. Those are his own frantic pants escalating as he gets closer and closer. 

And then at last it’s upon him, body twisting helplessly under Jonny’s weight as his cock erupts, jizz streaming down Jonny’s still slowly working hand, coating the beautiful long fingers. Jonny’s grip slows even further before he lets go as Patrick still shakes from aftershocks. Patrick’s aware then of how tight his ass is clamped around Jonny’s cock and the way he’s stopped moving altogether. 

Patrick winces and says, “You—uh, can.” 

Jonny’s face is tense, eyes shut tight, but he shakes his head. “Not a good idea,” and then Patrick’s glad Jonny vetoed it, because pulling out _hurts_. 

Jonny stays where he is between Patrick’s thighs, but he strips off the condom, hurriedly tossing it aside to start working his own junk, using the hand slick with Patrick’s come. Patrick feels like he should do something, because he hates when chicks just lay there, watching him through this part if they can’t fuck after coming. So he sits up underneath Jonny to kiss him and gets his own hand around Jonny’s cock, and Jonny has to show him how to do it for a moment, because the angle is all fucked up and he’s not sure how to deal with Jonny’s foreskin, but then he gets it and Jonny lets go, hips rolling as he fucks back into Patrick’s tight fist. Patrick kisses and strokes him with his free hand, and he can’t help imagining what they look like, if it’s hot. He bets it’s hot, that people would be into seeing this if they could, and not even because they’re famous. 

Jonny’s stopped kissing him back, mouth going slack as he gets close. Patrick leans back to look at him. For all the crazy faces Jonny makes on the ice when he’s getting checked or trying to muscle someone off the puck, his O face is surprisingly serene; Patrick watches breathless as his eyelids flutter and he comes with a harsh cry. 

Jonny hovers there afterwards, eyes closed, arms trembling from where they’re braced on either side of Patrick’s legs, still supporting his weight. A beat passes and then he breathes out and pushes himself up off Patrick, dropping to lie down at his side. He lands on his back, cock lying flaccid on his hip, and looking at it, Patrick realizes he hadn’t had to argue with Jonny to leave the lights on. 

He tells Jonny and Jonny nods absently, looking for all the world like he’s going to drop off into a doze. When he opens his eyes up again, it’s with a small satisfied smile. “Because I want to see too.” 

Patrick draws in a breath, unsure why that sentence gets him so bad, makes him think that if he wasn’t so tired, he could probably go again pretty shortly. 

“You staying?” Jonny asks, still unmoving on top of the covers. 

Patrick yawns. He casts his eyes about for his scattered clothes and thinks about how much effort it would be to shower and put them on. He probably should shower anyway, because he’s filthy, but exhaustion is also creeping in, a reminder that they had a pretty fast-paced game earlier. 

“I’m beat,” Patrick replies. “That okay?”

Jonny heaves himself off the bed like it’s a colossal effort and paces into his bathroom. “Yup.” Turning the taps on, Jonny washes his hands and then wipes himself off with a washcloth. He looks back over at Patrick through the door. “You’re my road roommate. Would be kinda stupid to tell you to get lost when we have to share a room tomorrow anyway.” 

It’s not the same thing as being in the same bed together, Patrick thinks, but he’s too tired to say anything. Jonny comes back to the bed with another damp washcloth, the water that soaks it warm but not too warm, and starts gliding it across Patrick’s skin. 

“What, hey!” Patrick says, trying to hold in a giggle because he’s ticklish. He tenses up when Jonny, holding his gaze, traces the cloth down between his thighs, wiping at the lube still making him sticky. It feels almost as intimate as taking Jonny inside him, which Patrick realizes now, unclouded by arousal, was exactly what he did. Thunderstruck, he takes a moment to process that he had another person inside his body. Patrick isn’t turned on, but he is something, and it makes him shift uncomfortably, dropping his eyes. 

“Just doin’ my good top duties,” Jonny explains, brusquely. Abruptly pulling away, he tosses the cloth in the direction of the laundry hamper. Something in the air has changed now that the post-sex haze has diminished, along with an aching realization that he really did decide to have sex with Jonny. He wonders if he should leave after all. They did what they came to do and it should probably be out of Patrick’s system now that he knows what it’s like. He stays put though, because he really is tired. 

Nevertheless, that same prickle of unease boots him out of bed only a little after 5 AM. The sky is still dark, but he can make out Jonny sleeping on his back with one arm up over his head, covers pushed down around his waist. It’s no different than the 50 or so times he’s woken up next to Jonny sleeping shirtless in their hotel room, but it feels different now that he’s had his hands on that body, done his best to make it feel good. 

Patrick shakes himself. The last thing he needs is to be caught going down that road. 

* 

Patrick probably should’ve thought about this before he went and let Jonny fuck him, but he’s not at all prepared for the way his ass is sore in the first few days afterwards. It’s like overdoing it in a workout and having to deal with the muscle pain for the next few days. It’s not horrible, but it’s an insistent reminder of the things he did and had done to him every time he moves a certain way. 

He and Jonny are fine at least, playing well, and there’s no tension on the airplane or in the room. Jonny’s actually so any-other-day normal that it drives Patrick a little nuts. As much as he wants to feel normal he doesn’t. He can’t unsee or unfeel the things that he and Jonny did. He knows things now—what Jonny’s skin tastes like and the sounds he makes when he gets close. He wonders if Jonny’s gone back to hooking up with somebody new several times a week. 

“Okay, I’m not that bad,” Jonny protests when the guys make fun of him for it.

“Yes,” Sharpy hoots, “you really are.” 

It shouldn’t matter to Patrick, it’s not like he’s looking to do it again. Only, now he’s got Jonny’s soft ‘mmm’ when Patrick had pointed out that he liked to bottom in his head. And it’s just hung up inside him somehow, like unfinished business maybe. Which is ridiculous. He’s never gotten blown by a chick and then felt like he didn’t get the full nine yards because he didn’t get to fuck her too. He’s not sure why it also feels different than wanting to see a chick a second time after they’ve hooked up, but it is different, like he took a hit of a drug and became addicted. 

It’s so dumb. He can’t be addicted to ass fucking. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t feel equal between them anymore. Jonny got to fuck him, but Patrick didn’t get to fuck Jonny; a fundamental lack of balance was introduced when they’ve always been neck-and-neck. 

Not like it matters anyway, because Jonny’s acting as if nothing happened, which is what Patrick _wants_ him to do. Except—

Except it was earth-shattering to Patrick. The best sex he’s ever had, and it pains him to think it wasn’t like that for Jonny too. He knows it’s probably because of all of Jonny’s experience, that having sex with Patrick couldn’t have been much different for him than any other hookup. That’s not Jonny’s problem, and Patrick shouldn’t take it personally just because he’s been unexpectedly thrown out of whack by having his ass virginity taken. The whole thing sucks, he decides, but whatever. He can deal with things that suck. He’s dealt with a lot of things that sucked like leaving home so young, or being taken so late in the OHL draft, and not getting as tall as the other guys when it seemed like that was the only thing standing in the way of his dreams. So yeah, he’ll deal, because it’s the right idea, and what else is there? 

If only all the mundane things that Jonny does would stop looking like porn to him. As he watches Jonny run his hands along the shaft of his stick while he cuts it down to size that’s all he’s got on the brain. He doesn’t even get why. After all, he’s seen Jonny do this a million times when the equipment staff is busy, in fact he’s seen every guy in the room do it. There’s no reason at all for this to bring him back immediately to what happened in Jonny’s bedroom. 

“What’s up?” Jonny asks when he sighs, head cocked to the side. 

Jonny can be snappish if he’s tired or hungry. Patrick could use some more of that right now to get over this shit, but of course, Jonny’s firmly locked into observation mode, and he’s always down to talk about stuff. It’s what got them in trouble to begin with—Jonny and his ever-present need to take care of people. Seriously, if Dale doesn’t name him Captain permanently at the beginning of next season Patrick will say something to Stan about it. Well, probably not actually. But he’ll think about it very strongly anyway. 

“Nothing, man,” Patrick tells him. “Just thinking about trying some new stuff during the game.”

Jonny nods, apparently accepting that excuse, and Patrick is struck yet again with how much wants to kiss him. Something is really wrong with him. 

*

A few days later they beat LA in OT. Sharpy has an absolutely ridiculous game, scoring the Hawks’ first goal, then assisting on Williams’ goal in the second, and finally firing in the game winner towards the end of OT. They’re all out on the ice celebrating, and as Jonny leaps over the boards and skates over for a jubilant hug, Sharpy cracks, “How could you not want some of this?” 

“Easily,” Jonny replies and Patrick thinks his eyes dart briefly over to him again. He has no idea what it means, if it’s just shared commiseration over how vain Sharpy is, or something else. 

“Don’t go in for bombass goal scorers, eh?” Sharpy replies. 

“Not if they look like you,” Jonny replies and Sharpy looks so genuinely stricken that everybody else laughs at him. 

“I’m just kiddin’,” Jonny replies. 

“Fuckin’ right you are,” Sharpy growls. 

That night he expects Jonny to go out with the boys, since they don’t have to fly anywhere, their next game is in Anaheim, and earlier in the season everybody had said how much better the gay boys were in California. Not as closeted and more secure in their sexuality or something, but Jonny weirdly ducks out, telling Patrick, “Go on you go, I’m feeling under the weather.” 

Patrick goes back to their room only a short while later, having decided it wasn’t his scene after he finished his one drink. Jonny’s already asleep in his bed and his face looks soft and vulnerable. Patrick wants to touch and kiss him awake so bad that it’s a physical ache. He thinks about it for a long time before falling asleep. 

The next morning at team breakfast, Jonny’s his usual grumpy self, nursing a coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe at the bottom. Patrick doesn’t bother to talk to him until he’s downed the entire cup and perked up a little. 

“Yo, you got in early,” Jonny says, “Last night I mean.” 

“Did I wake you?” Patrick asks warily. Nobody wants a repeat of the night before the game in Toronto back in October, where Jonny ridiculously accused him of ruining his game. 

“No, not really, just—” Jonny cuts himself. “Never mind.” 

Patrick blinks at him. “Okay,” he says drawing it out. 

Jonny shakes his head and goes back to eating. 

That night Lalime shits the bed, managing to take both a penalty and having a miscue on the puck. As a result Selanne gets his 20th career hat trick, beating out Rocket Richard in all time goals. 

“Sucks that it had to be against us,” Jonny says as they’re flying back on the plane. He’s paging through a magazine in the aisle seat next to Patrick who tries not to run over everything that went wrong on repeat. 

“Hey, Tazer,” Burish says, turning around in his seat. “Ryan was telling me that Selanne’s got the biggest dick he’s ever seen.” 

“Good for him?” Jonny tells him, unimpressed. 

“Just thought this might be some valuable information for you,” he replies, waggling his brows. 

“Not my type either,” Jonny says, looking down at his magazine. 

“No, you only like blond jocks,” Sharpy butts in. 

“You’re never going to get over that, are you?” Patrick says, choking up with laughter. 

Sharpy snorts. “Yeah, whatever, if I was gay I could do better than Tazer.” 

“I’m sure you’d be beast,” Jonny replies dryly. 

“Kaner’s a blond jock,” Burish says suddenly, head tilted speculatively. They both tense up at the same time, probably looking guilty as sin. Fuck, it would be so bad if anybody knew what they’d done, even if it was only a one time thing and totally chill with no impact on their game. Burish continues, “But you don’t see Jonny trying to climb him like a tree, what’s that say about you, Kaner?” 

Patrick relaxes back into his seat only to tense back up again when Jonny says, “Not enough to climb.” 

“Ha ha, another short joke,” Patrick says with a sharp snap, “I’ve never heard one of those before.” 

Everybody around him shrugs and returns to their Gameboys or their magazines, unwilling to pick a fight. Patrick huffs out a breath and goes back to looking out the window. 

Somehow it doesn’t penetrate his brain until four days later when they play Dallas. Steve Ott makes some crack about him being a little blond princess after he gets tossed out of the circle and has to come over to the ice next to Patrick, bracing himself, stick at the ready. Patrick straightens up in sheer surprise as soon as Ott says it and Ott shoots him a look, clearly taken aback by his reaction. 

Patrick can’t believe he missed it. He really _is_ Jonny’s type, down to a T even. He’s so caught up in the thought that he nearly misses the puck altogether when Jonny wins the faceoff.

“What?” Jonny mouths at him during the TV timeout when he catches Patrick staring. Patrick shakes his head and looks away. 

The question now is what is he going to do with that information, forcibly reminding himself to get his head back in the game. They lose again anyway, desperately missing Khabi on the ice while he’s out with his back spasm, because of course Lalime lets in another 7 goals. It’s a brutal game that results in 13 penalties in the third period alone. Seabs and Burish both get into fights and Savvy yells at them in the locker room again. Nobody has any plan to go out tonight. 

“You’re quiet,” Jonny remarks in the elevator going back up to their hotel after they grabbed a bite to eat. He’s already unknotted his tie and the top button on his suit, and though he looks tired, he also looks utterly fuckable all rumpled up. Patrick’s blood hums with that same charged electricity as last time, emotions filling up his throat. 

He doesn’t mean to do anything when they get back to their hotel room. It’s not the best place for it what with their teammates on either side, and the both of them are exhausted from a tough game. But then he watches Jonny absently shrug out of his suit, the power of his body evident through his traps and lats and then through his obnoxiously big quads, and yet somehow all that thick muscle is still elegant. 

Jonny catches him staring a second time when he turns around to get a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. “What?” he asks again as he cracks it open. 

Patrick has started moving across the room before his brain fully catches up that that’s what he’s decided. Jonny looks at him, unmoving, as Patrick leans in and kisses Jonny slow and sweet, savoring his revelation on his tongue. Making a noise in the back of his throat, Jonny slowly kisses back. The get caught up, making out like that in the middle of a cold hotel room, Jonny half-naked, and Patrick fully clothed. It feels so right to do this again. God he missed it. This, he supposes, is like finally getting a good hit after long days jonesing for a score. 

Jonny breaks away, dropping his hand down Patrick’s body to cup his growing hardon. 

“We don’t have to do anything here,” Patrick tells him, voice coming out hoarse.

“Why not though?” Jonny replies, brushing his knuckles up and down over the outline of his cock. “Might make us feel better.” 

Patrick takes a moment to respond, distracted by Jonny’s touch. “Well, I’m not gonna say no.” 

“Of course not,” Jonny replies, dark eyes intent on Patrick’s with a mischievous little smile. “Because you’re dying to fuck me, aren’t you?” 

Patrick licks his lips as he tries to play it cool. “Oh?” 

“I got to fuck you, and you didn’t get the same,” Jonny says. “And we all know how much you hate it when I have a leg up on you.” 

Patrick’s cheeks burn, caught out. 

“I told you I knew you,” Jonny tells him fondly, before kissing him again. They move frantically, getting naked and on Jonny’s bed as soon as he finds lube in his bag. Patrick still can’t really believe it’s happening a second time. There’s a strange shiver in his gut when Jonny stops and says, “You’ll probably want to use your own condom.” 

Patrick nods dumbly, because he’s a red-blooded American male who is in no way immune to complimentary remarks about dick size. He suspects that Jonny knows this as he digs it out of his wallet. 

“How much, uh, prep do you need?” Patrick asks as he’s climbing back on the bed. 

Jonny looks at him with half-lidded eyes. “I can take a big dick.” 

Patrick nearly swallows his own tongue when Jonny shuffles over and lies back, sinking in two fingers like it's easy. Jonny smiles back at him, enjoying putting on a show. He really is something, stretched out and so confident. Patrick wonders when he'll get there himself, if he'll ever be that assured about sex.

“Can I?” Patrick asks and Jonny nods quickly, tugging his fingers free. Patrick drizzles lube down on his own fingers and then tentatively presses against Jonny’s hole. Jonny breathes out like just that simple light touch is doing it for him and Patrick lingers at it, enjoying the way his eyes have gone dark. He finally puts some force behind it, and they slide in like they were meant to be there. 

“It’s easier as you get used to it,” Jonny says, breathless now, eyelids fluttering, “Mostly you just need to make sure I’m all lubed up.” 

Jonny is so hot inside, and despite the nearly effortless way he let Patrick into his body, still incredibly tight around his fingers. It’s nothing at all like fingering a girl's pussy. But then that was the entire point, wasn't it? Why every guy he ever knew wanted it so bad. 

“You should see yourself,” Jonny says, “you look like you’re figuring out a play.” 

Patrick angles his wrist up, remembering what Jonny did to him, and then drives his fingers back inside, the tips of his fingers moving right over the swell of the gland. Jonny’s abs tighten up and his dick jumps, and it’s his turn to look wide-eyed at Patrick. 

“I _am_ ,” Patrick replies as he does it again, fighting back a smug grin as Jonny turns his cheek away to push it into the pillow. 

“I think that’s enough,” Jonny says, voice ragged, clumsily grabbing ahold of his wrist to stop the motion of his hand. “I’m sensitive,” he explains. 

“Ah,” Patrick says, like he really knows what that means. “How, um, do you want to do this?” 

Jonny pauses like he’s considering. “What have you thought about?” he asks. 

Patrick drags his lower lip into his mouth. “All of it,” he admits. Jonny stays quiet, like he’s surprised by this somehow. “All of it,” Patrick repeats, “but on your knees? So I can watch?” 

Jonny smiles, that same sweet smile from last time that had torn Patrick open, made all of this so much more than a curiosity fuck. “Yeah of course,” he says, voice gone soft. 

It takes a little bit to adjust for their differing heights, Jonny widening his knees on the mattress, until the split of his thighs looks so obscene Patrick has to take a second just to remind himself to function. 

“Fuck, c’mon,” Jonny tells him, head dropped between his shoulders. 

“Just wanted to get a good look,” Patrick tells him as he lines his cock up, reaching for Jonny’s hip with his other hand. Patrick slowly works it inside, watching greedily as it disappears inch by inch into Jonny’s body. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Patrick says, because even though he thought he had some idea of what it would feel like, he really had none at all. The pressure is so intense and unending and when Patrick leans in, getting his whole cock in, Jonny makes a noise that he’s never heard out of him before, a shiver traveling the length of his body. 

“Okay?” Patrick asks, hoping beyond hope that it is, because he doesn’t want to pull out. He never wants to pull out. He could live here. 

“You’re a lot,” Jonny replies, muffled, and Patrick kinda wishes he could see his face so he could read the expression there. 

“What happened to being able to take big dicks?” Patrick asks, apparently unable to keep from chirping Jonny even when he’s balls deep inside him. 

“No, it’s—fuck,” he breaks off when Patrick pulls back experimentally and then thrusts back in. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t handle it,” Patrick says, grinning a little, dragging another cry out of Jonny when he does it again. 

Jonny blows out a breath. “No, you freak, I needed a moment because it feels good!” 

“Oh, really,” he says, dragging the last syllable out in delighted amusement. What was Jonny expecting, that Patrick would be bad in bed?

“Not that,” Jonny says, breathless now, as Patrick works himself into a good rhythm. “It’s just... you’re new to this...most people would try to go at it like it’s a pussy.” 

“I just copied what you did,” Patrick tells him, sweat building at his temples and in the hollow of his throat from the exertion. He is a _good lay_ , thank you very much. Jonny's skin is also sheening up and Patrick has to drag his fingers through it, marveling that they're here. 

“Of course you did,” Jonny moans. 

But it’s not just that, Patrick thinks. They work well together. He already knows how to read so many of Jonny’s unspoken tells that it’s easy to let that guide him, their movements complementary and beautifully profane. 

But there’s something missing—crazy as it is to imagine—he can’t see Jonny’s face, can’t kiss him, and can’t tell if Jonny’s cock is as hard as he hopes it is. 

He pulls out, another impulse decision, and Jonny looks back over his shoulder, perturbed. “Hey, flip over,” Patrick says. 

“Yes, your highness,” Jonny grumbles, but it’s more than worth it to see Jonny’s glassy eyes and red cheeks and the way his flush extends all the way down his chest, rosy over his perpetual tan. 

When he fucks back in, this time with his mouth on Jonny’s, kissing him unhurried and languorous, it’s like slotting correctly into place, and as Patrick gets close all he wants to do is drive in harder and faster, get inside Jonny as far as he can over and over. But he hesitates, not sure how considerate that is or desirable on Jonny’s end. 

Jonny must sense where his mind is going though, because he tugs Patrick in tight, pressing their foreheads together, and whispers, “Go for it.” 

Patrick does, swearing, hips speeding up like he can’t help it, and Jonny talks him through it, his arms around Patrick’s back and his cock gratifyingly hard between them. “Yeah, come on, give it to me.” 

Patrick always thought that kind of dirty talk was stupid and pointless, but he gets it now. Jonny’s soft murmurs setting hooks inside him as he hurtles towards orgasm. He realizes with a little jolt, close, so close, that he came first last time and he wonders if he really ought to slow down, make sure Jonny is there with him. 

“Don’t stop,” Jonny orders when Patrick starts to back off. 

“Okay, okay, just wanna make it good for you,” Patrick babbles, feeling almost like he’s running a race and so close to the finish line with those last few steps in view. 

Jonny makes a strangled noise. “You’re too fuckin’ good at this.” He sounds slightly put out and it makes Patrick laugh a little hysterically. It seems only fair, given that Jonny put him in total meltdown when he fucked him two weeks ago. Hell, he’s putting Patrick into meltdown again now, so he might as well drag Jonny down with him. 

Jonny groans and tugs on him. “Peeks, can you—” he cuts himself off as Patrick soon realizes what he’s going for and drops in even tighter so Jonny can rub off on his belly. 

Patrick fears he’s about to come and he tells Jonny urgently, “Sorry, I’m gonna—” 

“Oh god, me too,” Jonny interrupts and then he’s arching up into him, lifting his hips to fuck his cock against Patrick’s belly even as Patrick keeps up his piston-like strokes inside him. Jonny rolls his hips in tight little circles, following the motion of Patrick’s body, so every thrust inside Jonny is like a thrust he gets back himself. He shoves in hard one last time, seeming to flip a switch in Jonny too, and then they’re both coming and it feels endless, like he’ll never stop. 

Coming down, Patrick groans into Jonny’s throat, winded; they’re wrapped so tight around each other that he wonders indulgently if they’ll ever be able to separate. He likes it, a deep welling of contentment building in his chest.

A sudden banging on the wall that the headboard rests against startles them both, and they both look up at it guiltily. On the other side somebody yells, “Jonny, quit it!” 

Jonny bursts out laughing, and it’s a weird sensation with Patrick still inside him. “Where do they think I am?” Patrick asks indignantly. “It couldn’t possibly be me hooking up in here?” 

Jonny says, “Man, at least they were nice enough to let us finish.” 

“Hotel bro code,” Patrick replies solemnly and Jonny starts laughing again.

They gingerly detangle themselves, with Patrick holding onto the flooded condom as he pulls out. This time it’s Patrick doing the good top duties, getting up to go to the bathroom to wash up and get a wet cloth for Jonny. 

By the time he gets out of the bathroom Jonny has moved over to Patrick’s bed, lying on top of the covers and seemingly careless of his nudity or how cold the room is now they’re not fucking He stretches his arms over his head as he yawns. And even that Patrick finds attractive. Perhaps he should consider going back into the bathroom and putting his head under the tap. 

Profferring up the cloth, he wonders what they do now. If this is just the end for real—now that they’ve ‘evened it out.’

After Jonny’s cleaned himself up and settled under the covers, he clears his throat and says lightly, “You’re gonna have to set your alarm aggressively early if you wants to pull a runner on me.”

Patrick sits down at the edge of the bed. “I was freaking out.” Jonny nods once like he understands. “I just don’t know what this means…” 

Jonny’s quiet for a long moment, face unreadable and Patrick hates that he can’t decode that look. Jonny’s supposed to be an open book to him. 

“Well,” Jonny says slowly, breaking into his thoughts. “It can mean that I’ve been gone for you since the first time I saw you in your stupid yellow flip flops, or it can just be letting off steam between friends.” He shrugs. “Up to you.” 

Patrick is floored, gaping at him with his mouth open. He had no idea at all that Jonny felt that way, or that he could maybe want more with Patrick. All that talk about not fucking teammates and screwing every available gay dude in Chicago. He’d thought he’d been alone in his inappropriate feelings and now Jonny tells him he’s been nursing a crush on him since grade school? 

Jonny leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “You don’t have to choose right now,” he says gently, already turning his back to roll over onto his side. 

But Patrick catches at his hand, lacing their fingers together and drawing him to a halt. Jonny looks down at their clasped hands and then back up at Patrick who swallows hard. Everything he’s been feeling over the last few months is welling up inside him, threatening to burst out of him in an embarrassing torrent of words he’s not quite prepared to share. 

“Fuck, I don’t think it’s just you,” he finally manages. 

Slowly a grin spreads across Jonny’s face. He squeezes Patrick’s hand and then leans in conspiratorially to whisper, “I always kinda hoped your strange obsession with my sex life meant something.”


End file.
